


one thousand paper cranes

by Anonymous



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hope's Peak Academy (Dangan Ronpa), Gen, Hope's Peak Academy, M/M, Ouma not Oma, Sickfic, The Cast of V3 except Ouma all go to Hope's Peak
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 06:52:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17279171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Saihara Shuuichi has a year to live.This is the truth.The person in the hospital bed next to his never gives a straight answer.This is the truth.The person in the hospital bed next to his makes origami cranes as beautiful as his violet eyes.This is the truth.





	one thousand paper cranes

It starts when he faints during English. He's standing up to hand in his translation assignment when suddenly his vision turns to white ash and he forgets how to stand and he feels like he's floating and _why can't he see_ and Akamatsu is staring down at him (that's weird, he's almost as tall as her) looking painfully worried (why? nothing happened, he just feels a little dizzy. He tells her so).

The crease in her brow deepens and she looks away, saying something (something that he can't really hear through the bells in his ears) to Yukizome-sensei.

"Saihara-kun," Akamatsu says softly as their teacher puts the back of her hand to his forehead and coaxes him into a sitting position (what? he was standing just a minute ago, he shouldn't be on the floor, this doesn't make sense) "you were out for at least five minutes. You," she hesitates and bites her lip, "you just collapsed."  
Saihara stares at his knuckles and notes how pale the skin is (paler than normal, pale like the paper of his assignment, pale like Yonaga's silvery hair. They don't look like his hands). He doesn't feel real, doesn't feel solid, doesn't feel like he's in an English classroom at Hope's Peak with his fourteen classmates (Akamatsu says that their year's lucky student went to find Tsumiki-senpai) watching him with worry on their faces (something in the back of his head is telling him _this isn't right_ ). He looks up at Akamatsu and laughs nervously.

  
"I-I'm okay," he murmurs and ignores the something in the back of his head, ignores the white ash and noise in his ears, "I just got lightheaded. I didn't sleep well last night, so it's really my own fault."  
Akamatsu shuffles away from him and offers him a hand. He smiles gratefully as she helps him get up and pretends he doesn't notice (he does, though) the way Yukizome-sensei glances at him until the bell rings.  
-  
He rinses blood from his mouth in the shower and tries not to vomit more of it.  
-  
It's during training with Momota the next time, and they haven't even _got outside yet_ when his legs suddenly give out beneath him and his vision dissolves into fuzzy static. Momota's saying something (but he can't pick out the words) and Harukawa has her arms around his waist (when did she do that?), gently lowering him to kneel on tiled floors that should probably be colder than they feel.

  
"Shuuichi," he manages to hear through the chiming in his ears, "do you know what's going on? C'mon, answer me."  
Does he? It's only happened once before (it's happened before, it's happened before, why has this happened before), so he shakes his head (or at least, he thinks he does, he can't tell and his head feels so heavy he's not sure he could move it if he was as strong as Gonta).

Momota seems to understand though, and stands from his crouching position (wasn't he always standing? Shuuichi doesn't know). Harukawa shifts, still supporting his weight.  
"Shuuichi, I'm gonna go find Tsumiki-senpai," Momota tells him, pulling off his galaxy coat. He drapes it across Shuuichi's knees. "Or, I dunno, Yukizome-sensei."  
He feels his eyes widen (no no no he can pretend there's nothing wrong if nobody says anything is wrong then maybe nothing is wrong).  
"No," he hears himself say, (something in the back of his head is telling him that this is wrong, he should be accepting help) "I-I'm fine. Really. I've been staying up late studying. I'm just tired."  
The lie rings loud like church bells in his head, pressing heavy against the backs of his eyes. Vaguely, he wonders if Momota and Harukawa can hear them through his skull. He pries Harukawa's arms from around his waist, places a hand on the floor to steady himself and extends the other to grasp Momota's outstretched one (wasn't this was easier the last time?).

  
"I'm fine," he repeats, and the words taste sour on his tongue, "so there's no need to bother Tsumiki-senpai." The lies don't taste any less bitter.

-

The upperclassman who sees him vomiting in the bathroom says nothing (even though they know who each other are, well enough at least) and he isn't sure whether he's grateful or scared.  
-  
He's leaning over his desk trying to decipher a mass murder Kirigiri gave him to solve; the victims each killed in increasingly disturbing ways. Shotput ball to the head. Drowned in a fish tank. Hit over the head with a floorboard. Stabbed in the back of the neck during a ritual. Crushed. 

He traces the kanji in the descriptions, searches the background of every photograph. He takes a sip of water and chokes on it, coughing into his hand until the discomfort subsides. His throat burns like there is fire in his lungs and he lifts his hand away from his face. There is blood, smeared on his palm and the cuff of his shirt. The sight stings his eyes, the smell hitting him like a slap to the face. He inhales sharply and chokes on what might be blood or his own breath, coughing before he can cover his mouth. He leans on his desk, wheezing and trying to regain control of his breath.  
-  
"Saihara-kun," says Kiibo, "you appear to be extremely pale. Perhaps I can ask Iruma-san to download medical journals the next time I visit her for maintenance, if you would like?"  
Saihara shakes his head. "It's fine, Kiibo-kun. I'm just a little, ah, off, so to speak. I'm," he hesitates, "I'm sure it'll pass with time."

Kiibo tilts his head. "I am not familiar with how humans respond to illness, as it was not a trait the professor could equip me with. Nonetheless, I hope you recover quickly, Saihara-kun."  
-  
He's sitting with Harukawa, Momota, Akamatsu and Amami, listening (is he, though? he hasn't really heard any of it) to their conversation about either bees or a movie the SHSL Actor was just in, and halfheartedly picking at the rice in his bento. He sets down his chopsticks, closing the lid of the bento box. Amami breaks off from the conversation, frowning. He plays with one of the rings on his fingers.

  
"Saihara-kun, are you alright? You haven't been eating much lately."  
He laughs nervously.

"I don't know what it is, Amami-san," he tries to fight the burning in his trachea, "maybe it's my bad cooking, but it kinda tastes like paper."  
He's not sure if Amami replies. Saihara stares into the black plastic of the box, blinking and trying to get his eyes to focus on Amami's face, his hands, anything. His vision warps and splits into kaleidoscopic fragments, and suddenly Akamatsu's supporting his head (what?) and Momota's shouting for Yukizome-sensei (what?) and Harukawa's dragging Tsumiki away from a nearby table (what?!)

"Saihara-kun," Amami says, voice sounding too urgent and loud when they're just in the cafeteria, "Saihara-kun," he repeats, "can you hear me? Say something, please."  
Saihara moves his tired (tired? that isn't right) eyes to meet Akamatsu's wet lavender, Amami's panicked jade and Momota's amethyst.  
He places a hand on the table to steady himself, and Akamatsu places one of her own over his. It's warm and a little calloused. She clutches him to her chest like he is all that is beautiful and good on the world, rubbing her thumb in circles and figure-eights on the back of his hand.

"Breathe, Saihara-kun," she whispers, then turns to say something to Mikan that he can't make out over the dissonant piano music echoing in his skull.  
- 

Saihara inhales, and with shaky hands opens the letter from the SHSL Doctor.

The size-twelve font gives him a fatal illness and a year to live.

 

 


End file.
